A little while back, around Easter weekend, I wrote about my grandfather (Dziadziu in Polish) not doing well and our family not knowing how long he would be around for. Well, yesterday morning, he passed away. He went in for hip surgery on Tuesday, presumably because he fell once again and did some serious damage, and while the surgery went well, the recovery did not. They couldn't get his blood pressure back up to where it should have been, his breathing became labored, as him and my grandmother had decided, they didn't want any extra measures taken to revive him or prolong his life. At that point, the only thing the doctor's wanted to do was intubate him (put a tube down his throat to help him breath). So, instead of dealing with the pain of a tube down his throat and the pain of recovery, he passed away. He had managed to hold on for quite a while after this last Easter, but we all knew it was just a matter of time. The last time we saw him, he could barely stay awake for 5 minutes at a time without dozing off for a few more minutes. He lived for 90 years and what a life it was for him.
He was a veteran of World War II, a truck driver and no where near the front lines, and he used to love telling the story of how he brought a little dog back with him from overseas. They weren't supposed to bring any sort of animal back, but he was small enough that he was able to hide him in his accordion case and bring him back anyway. Dziadziu was a welder, owning his own business in Chicopee, Massachusetts for many years. Most of all, though, he was a loving husband, father, and grandfather. He loved life, took every opportunity he could to break out his accordion and play music, and loved to dance the polka with his wife, my grandmother. Two of my fondest memories of him date back to when I was a little boy. In Chicopee, where they lived, an old train track ran behind their house, unused by the time I was around, and perfect for walking along and seeing what we could find. Seeing the old side track where they used to deliver coal and hearing the stories about it, the factories just across the river from the tracks, and best of all, searching for the railroad spikes that had shimmied loose and lay strewn about as if in due time, the train tracks themselves would disassemble. I don't know where those spikes we collected are today, but that memory is seared into my mind and is one I will never forget. The other memory that sits fondly in the recesses of my mind, never to be forgotten, are the Thanksgivings we spent out on Cape Cod at the house they had there. I used to help stoke the fire in the fireplace with Dziadziu, play cards early in the morning betting for pennies, and run little toy cars through a patch of dirt that we had made roads in. Those memories will last forever with me and I often think about them to this day.
I am thankful that I got to know Dziadziu like I did and spend the time with him when I was younger. Yes, the tears are coming now for despite the fact that I know he is now without pain and in a better place, I still miss him. I am glad that I got to see him Easter weekend and spend time with him and I am glad that at least my son will remember him to an extent. He was a good man, faithful, and always ready to crack a joke at a moments notice. Everything was sacred to him, and yet every situation could always be filled with a laugh. It will be those moments of laughter I remember, his all encompassing smile, and his love of family. So while the tears come, I am happy that he is now without pain and I know he will be looking over us now, especially my son and daughter. Rest in peace, Dziadziu, rest in peace and know that one day we will share jokes again.
No comments:
Post a Comment